


Writing a Masterpiece

by crayonbreakygal



Category: Angel: the Series, Leverage, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Humor, Robots, Writing, this was not how this started out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 19:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: In a world where nothing makes sense, no, wait, this is definitely not porn. Or so they think.





	1. Hardison

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely not how this was going to be. I got stuck, then something popped into my head. This truly was going to be a very serious fic, then it was hijacked. Then I took it to other fandoms and here it is. To all the writers out there who have ideas that get sidetracked, this is for you.

Writing a Masterpiece

Chapter One--Hardison

She screamed.  Very loudly.  Her skin shouldn’t hurt. Her eyes should be able to adjust to the lighting in the room. It was too harsh. It all was too harsh. What she didn’t realize was why.

After pushing herself up from the corner where she’d buried her head for what seemed like forever, she paced back and forth, eyes finally adjusting to the bright light emitted from the single bulb. Why was it so bright?  Just one fucking bulb.  She could hear its hum over the voices in her head, still screaming at her to run, get out.  She didn’t recognize the voices at first, but she knew deep down they knew her. They were hers. No one else’s.  Why would she think that?

The white walls accentuated the bright light’s harshness.  The hard floor, slick but aging, was cold under her bare feet.  The gown on her body seemed way too big, exposed way too much to anyone who might see her.  Why would she care though? It wasn’t like there was anyone around to care.

Sliding her hands through her hair, one of her fingers caught on a knot, impeding her progress. It felt good to actually feel something other than what felt like spiders crawling all over her body.  That’s what had started the screaming in the first place.  She hated spiders. Always had. And she had no idea why.

The blonde hair in her hands didn’t look familiar to her, like she should have something different. It was fairly short, shorter than she usually wore. She liked long hair, so she could play with it.  A memory flitted through her brain, dark hair, tied in a tight ponytail, a growl, a hiss. She attempted to hold onto the memory, but it flittered away in the wind of her mind.

Walking the whole floor, she counted the tiles of the vinyl, hoping that would solve the problem of the memories just being there and flying away. It only made her angry that she couldn’t keep the memories.

“No, no. Come back.  I promise. I promise to be good.”

No use. The memory of a smile, a sudden chuckle, orange, then blank yet again.  Sitting down in the middle of the room, she curled into a tight ball, burying her head in her knees. Blocking the light out helped her head somewhat.  With her eyes squeezed shut, she heard a voice off in the distance.

“Hold on. I got you.”

The voices were mixed, different, male, female, accented, twangy.  They, the voices gave her hope that she could sort this out in her mind, before the hum of the light took over again, before she fell against the floor in defeat.

“Come get me. Please. Please.”

It’s what she’d shouted before the door closed.  Like there was someone out there to save her. There had to be. The voices told her there had to be.

 

He must have bounced the ball over a million times sitting against the wall. Back and forth it went, the only sound in the cold room.  The ball had been left, just out of reach of his hand when he awoke from a dreamless sleep.  Where was he? Who was he?

Oh, right. Hardison. Dammit. His mind was all jumbly, a mess.  He’d forgotten several times who he was. Focusing on the ball helped somewhat. He’d gone over what had happened in his mind seventy, eighty times.

Plan M.  Oh boy, were they fucked. Royally.  He wondered what had happened with everyone else. Eliot had gone down throwing punches, that he was sure.  Parker was taking no prisoners either, swinging a stick at her attackers. Hardison had tried, yes he had tried to escape, hoping that he could help, bring back help.  As he glanced back, running for the exit, he noticed out of the side of his eye Nate, Sophie standing directly behind him. The look in Nate’s eyes, the look of death if you touch Sophie, made him stop and turn.  Yes, he could help. He could fight. Until his world went dark, some kind of club upside the head. So much for his plan of escaping to bring back help.  At least his text had gone through. At least he thought it did.

So yes, they were royally fucked.  The bright white walls told him nothing of where they were.  Most definitely wasn’t where they’d been, that was for sure.  He’d yelled for almost an hour, not getting a response. The first time he’d tried that, they drugged him, hence the losing of his memory. Then he played it all cool, trying to make sure he could keep his memories intact.  They’d drugged him again. He couldn’t even remember how they’d done it. Probably meant he was due for another round.

Bouncing the ball, he hoped that if he made his mind go blank, then they wouldn’t notice that he had regained his memories. Then he could think of how to get out of this mess. Only he didn’t know where they were, why they were taken and even what day it was. And he needed to take a piss in the worst way.  He must not have been there very long, a few days at most. He wasn’t dehydrated, felt a little hungry, but not much. Everything was just so fuzzy.

Standing up, he felt around until finding a small button.  Talk about fuzzy feeling. Shit, he should not have stood up. The ball rolled into the corner as his body sunk back to the floor.  His name floated away, just above his consciousness.  He’d figure it out later. Now, time to sleep. Yes, time to sleep. Hold onto it, he thought.  You are Alec Hardison. Hold onto it.

“Hold on. I got you.”

He’d yelled that to someone, possibly Parker or Eliot.  He’d let them down, yet again.

“Come get me. Please.  Please.”

He could hear in his mind Parker saying this, telling him she needed help. If it was the last thing he did, he would help her or die trying. Looking over at his outstretched hand, he noticed the door opening and closing.  Yes, his captors. He’d learn all about his captors and escape. Then there’d be hell to pay.

 

The bones knitting back together were hell on wheels. He’d broken bones before, a leg, an arm, once even his collarbone. They would knit back together with time. There hadn’t been enough time for that to start though. That’s how he told time, so it wouldn’t escape him.  Giving him drugs that made him hallucinate made it difficult to concentrate, but he would manage.

Eliot estimated he had been captive almost three days now.  The scab on his upper lip didn’t itch anymore and didn’t bleed when he moved his lips.  His breathing had quietened somewhat, which meant he probably hadn’t punctured a lung, just bruised his ribs from fighting way too many men.

Shit, he thought.  Where were the others?  Parker had fought alongside him, but Hardison had disappeared in the scuffle. He’d told Hardison to run, hoping that the man could get out and find help.  Nate had taken to protecting Sophie, backed into a corner, body shielding hers. Jesus, he’d gone down fast. When guns were involved, they hadn’t stood a chance. No way could Nate have ducked this time. He hadn’t even had time to see if Sophie had been hit too. Definitely the reason why Sophie probably wasn’t hit. Nate took the shot. Eliot wasn’t fast enough. Parker wasn’t close enough.

The world went black soon after. He’d ended up on the cold floor, body broken, mind shattered, friends nowhere to be seen.  There was virtually no noise to the untrained ear.  Eliot heard more than most though.

He heard an occasional shuffle down the hallway outside his room. He’d thought he heard someone scream no at one point, possibly Parker, but it had gone away as soon as it started.  A slight banging in the next room had started hours ago, making it seem like someone was banging on the floor.  A slight moan started from another part of the place. Eliot heard it all, had been trained to hear it all. God, he hoped it was his team, but in some way he hoped it wasn’t.  He wouldn’t want them to endure any type of torture.

He was waiting, waiting for them to enter, torture him for information. Nothing had happened.  He wasn’t dehydrated, so something had to have happened.  Drugged was the only thing he could think of.

Rolling over, he coughed as he tried to sit up. It just hurt too fucking much. The one thing he did notice was the fact they hadn’t sealed the door completely at the bottom. His eyes followed the shadows underneath, as they passed by his door.  One, two, three sets of legs, walking fast from left to right.  A sound of a door opening, the sound of someone talking. It was all so faint, probably because the rooms were somewhat soundproof. The screech was unmistakable.  He knew exactly who that was.

Parker.  Jesus, what was going on?  Levering himself up, he grabbed his side, putting pressure on a wound that seemed to open up with the movement.  The door had no handle, no mechanism to open it.  Was it just a push?  Shoving up against it, he felt it give just slightly under his ministrations. 

Cameras?  Were there cameras anywhere?  Glancing around, he spotted it just off to the left, lens in the corner. If he jumped just so, he could disable it, so he could work without an audience. Surely they’d come to see what happened.  That was to his advantage.

Another scream rolled through the place, this time louder. Only it wasn’t Parker. Shit, shit and double shit. Nate. That had to be Nate. What in hell were they doing to him?

It took three jumps before he reached the camera. It took another jump to disable it.  The door gave way with three huge pushes. Turning around and around, Eliot ran toward the scream, hoping he wasn’t too late. It sounded like someone was dying. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

 

Plan M. It had actually come down to plan M. Or plan Z.  That one always was in the back of his mind, where he died, saving the rest of them from some force that he hadn’t anticipated.  This most certainly could be plan Z this time.  He’d missed something. What had he missed?

There was nothing to do but think.  Or bleed out since his shoulder still bled occasionally.  Someone had attempted to stitch him up, but had done a shit job of it. It throbbed in time with his heart beats.  Then he’d gone under, possibly from the pain, probably from the drugs they’d been pumping into his room at constant intervals.  Once, he’d noticed them walk into the room, give him fluids, make sure he hadn’t died, and left the room. It was all through a haze, but it had happened. 

A few times, they’d taken blood, given him a shot of something that had sent him under yet again.  He’d woken up groggy and disoriented, not remembering why he was there, his name slipping in and out of his consciousness. He had to concentrate just to remember who he was. Then he’d wrench his arm and it would all come back, rolling in like a tidal wave.

Sophie. She had been standing behind him when they’d taken the shot at him.  Her scream, his fall. He had no idea what they’d done with her.  God, he had tried to protect her as much as he could.  Eliot and Parker had both gone down fighting. He had no idea where Hardison had ended up.  Before falling, he’d tossed his phone under a cabinet, an alert sent out. Hardison had shown him how to do it, just in case he found himself in the exact situation they were now in.

He had to get up, figure out a way to the others. He was certain they were nearby.  Maybe it was just a sixth sense. The noises coming from outside possibly.  They tried to be quiet, but were not succeeding.  Eliot would hear it, would know what to do.  Parker might also.  Sophie, he had no idea.  Hopefully she could talk her way out of this. She didn’t deserve to die wherever they were.

The fight before the con had started like it usually did.  She wasn’t sure whether his plan would work. He assured her it would, telling her she was worrying too much. She pointed out its flaws, how to fix them. He’d not listened to her, taking her criticisms to heart, like she didn’t trust him. They yelled at each other, then Sophie had stormed off in a huff. It didn’t take her long to come back, if just to tell him he was wrong yet again, pushing him up against the wall as she did. One thing led to another, clothes were shed, no one knew who would come out on top, but they always got there in the end.  The scratches down his back still twinged just a bit, even through the pain of the shoulder wound.

What he wouldn’t give right at that moment for Sophie to walk through that door and save him, just like she had many times before. He had some explaining to do after this, if they survived this. He had to do better, listen better.

The tap tap on the floor bugged him. His ear was lying directly on it, cold but it couldn’t be helped. It was almost like someone was throwing a ball against something nearby. It was starting to drive him crazy.  The thump thump of it. If he could just move, just roll over slightly, then it might stop.

The scream coming from the opposite direction had his head tilting up, attempting to possibly be ready if something was going to happen. With a groan, he managed to sit up finally. The scream had been short, in a different direction than the thump thump had been.  Could it have been Parker?  Most likely.  Sophie’s usual scream was more like a growl.  Or maybe that was just an act.  He really didn’t know.

His head swam as he tried to get up off the floor. The room was way too bright for his eyes, but he needed to get moving if someone was to enter.  Maybe he’d have a chance to get out or at least gain some information if he couldn’t.  As he swiveled his head around, he thought he saw someone, but he could never catch what it was.  Was he hallucinating? Too much blood loss? 

Or had they started pumping in whatever drug they’d used on him into the room?

“Hold on. I got you.”

Had Sophie said that right after he’d been shot?  He remembered hands on him, but they seemed hostile, not loving.  Oh god, why hadn’t he told her he cared for her before it was too late?  He may never get to tell her how he felt. He had no idea whether she was alive or not.

“Come get me.  Please. Please.”

That had to have been Parker. Had he let her down too, in addition to the others?  They were his responsibility.  They were his. No way would he leave them in there to rot. He’d take on an army to get them out of this. If his shoulder would cooperate, he’d do it.

His hand came away with blood on it as he felt for the door.  It wasn’t that obvious, but he knew the approximately vicinity if just because of the slight breeze coming in from under it.  He’d spent enough time on the floor to figure that out. He hadn’t had the time to scout for cameras, but was sure there was one.  He’d have no way to disable it with the hurt arm and shoulder.  Just getting to the door had taken a lot out of him.

The blood on the wall was a stark contrast on the bright white. How long had he been trapped? He wasn’t dehydrated, but the shoulder wound was still fresh. So no longer than a few days at the most.  Why? This just did not make any sense at all.

He felt around, trying to figure out the door until it moved slightly.  Standing off to the side, he was pushed back, tumbling to the floor.  Parker’s scream had him crawling back to his feet, but what he saw at the door troubled him. 

“Soph?”

She stood directly before him, not looking at him at all.  Something was definitely wrong. She must be drugged also. Instead of recognizing him, she slowly walked into the room.  A man, who looked to be in his fifties, came in behind her, smile evil and taunting.  Now they’d show their cards. Only Nate had no idea who this person was and what he wanted.

“I see that she responded very well. Now let’s see what she can do.”

Before Nate could move, Sophie was on him. Her hand went directly for his wound, pressing in until he couldn’t help but scream. What in hell was she doing to him?  A flicker somewhere in her eyes told him she was there somewhere, deep down.

He tried to get out of her grasp, but she had a strong hold on her, probably because he was weakened from the gunshot. Gripping her hair, he managed to make her let up just enough so he could whisper in her ear.

Her real name. He managed to whisper her real name. She jolted back, head snapping like she’d been hit.

“Come here,” the man ordered to Sophie.

Instead she jerked her head back, turned and stalked toward him. What in hell had he done? He’d just said her name. With a hold and a twist, Sophie was able, Nate didn’t know how, to break the man’s neck. He thought only Eliot could do something like that.

Sophie turned back to him, eyes zeroing in.  Crap, he thought. She still didn’t act like she knew who he was.  The eyes were glazed over. Three days at most. Who had changed his Sophie into something else in that amount of time? The hand that just had killed the man at the door grabbed onto his wound again, bringing him to his knees. The scream of pain escaped as his vision blurred.  If she didn’t stop, she’d crush the shoulder, probably killing him.

“Sophie. No,” Eliot screamed from the door. “Stop.”

The pressure let up as Sophie pushed him to the side.

“Something’s wrong,” he managed to pant out, hoping that Eliot heard him.

He most certainly did not want Eliot to tangle with Sophie, only because he could get hurt even worse than he looked right then.

 

“Oh my god. Seriously? Sophie’s a robot or something?”

Alec knew his story was a bit far-fetched, but he felt like stretching himself in this arena.

“Sophie’s not the Terminator, Hardison.”

“Hasta la vista, baby,” Parker said as she tried to imitate the Schwarzenegger voice.

Nate glared at her as he sat down beside Parker at their table.

“Oh, come on. It’s fiction.”

“Not so much fiction. Nate got shot.”

“Again,” Eliot finished Parker’s statement.

Nate looked at himself up and down and smirked a little.  “Hey, I haven’t had that much to drink.”

“Says who,” Parker shot back.  “Sophie’s some bad ass robot thing in Hardison’s story.”

Nate’s smirk turned into a look of inquisitiveness.  “Robot?”

“Hey, it’s just some online fiction thing. Nothing to be worried about.”

“You better have changed the names,” Eliot reminded the hacker.

“Yeah, sure. I’m using all y’alls real names?  Who do you take me for? Besides, we still aren’t sure what Sophie’s is. Could be the one I’m using for all I know.”

“Robot?” Nate was hung up on the robot thing.

“Yeah, she like twisted some guy’s neck and broke it, then turned on you, not realizing that it was you. There was lots of blood and gore. Possibly more blood.”

“Something’s wrong with you, Parker.”

“It’s not The Walking Dead, Parker. Nate’s not gonna turn into a zombie.”

“Zombie?” Nate questioned.

“No zombies Parker.”

“That would be cool. Race against time before Nate turns into a creature of the night.”

“I’m pretty sure that zombies can operate in the day,” Eliot pointed out.

“Creature of the night?” Nate parroted back.  “Why would Sophie turn me into a creature of the night?”

“Nah. She’s been brainwashed into this killing machine, you see.  We all gotta save her.”

“OK, but have her save you in the end, Hardison. Plot twist,” Eliot added.

“Hey, I’m the one who remembers here. The rest of you are toast without me and my expertise.”

Nate slammed down the rest of his drink, head swiveling from one person to another, eyes wide at their antics.

“I can’t save myself.”

“Nah man. If I die in most of your contingency plans, you don’t get to save yourself.”

Eliot passed around the peanuts.

“You don’t die in all my plans. Just M and a few others.”

“Why is it this happens?  And Sophie?  You still haven’t answered her about what happens with her. Hate to be on the receiving end of that world of hurt.”

Nate stared off into space, like he was remembering being on the end of that world of hurt.

“Ok, now that was just way too much information,” Eliot said to Nate as he grabbed his beer.

“What? I didn’t say a thing.”

“It was what you didn’t say that clued me in.”

“Oh, is this a sex thing?” Parker shouted out, a few heads turning her way.

“Sex with a robot?” Hardison grinned.

“Is Sophie a robot?” Nate asked again and not getting any answers.

“Consent,” Eliot reminded Hardison.

“No one is gonna take advantage of no one.  I don’t go there.”

“Good. Thought I was gonna have to hurt you.”

Hardison backed up a little at Parker’s announcement.

“No, no. Not going there. Ever, Parker. I mean, sure. A little smooch here and there. I’m not hard core.”

“What are you doing? Writing porn?” Nate asked Hardison.

“He’s writing science fiction,” Eliot reiterated, “without our names or our faces.”

”Yes, if you mean I’m the ruggedly handsome computer geek, Parker is the quirky yet beautiful thief known for her witty comebacks.  You, on the other hand, look like Quasimodo.”

“Funny man,” Eliot warned Hardison, grinning a not so pleasant grin.

“What about me?”

“You’re the damsel in distress,” Parker told Nate.

Nate looked a little perturbed at that. “Not a damsel.”

“You always seem to get yourself into some sort of distress though,” Eliot pointed out.

“How many times have I saved each and every one of your asses?”

“How many times have you gotten our asses in trouble with one of your plans?”

Things were getting a bit heated between Eliot and Nate. Time for the hero to come in and save the day.

“Boys, boys. Do I need to separate you? Neutral corners?  Or perhaps a locked room and lots of interesting toys?”

Both Nate and Eliot literally jumped apart. Sophie loved to play up something that was not there between Nate and Eliot if just to poke them both.  Neither was homophobic at all, but they never wanted any question to which way they swung. Sophie knew exactly the answer to that.

“No, Soph,” Nate started, attempting to placate her.  “Hardison was just telling us the story he was writing. You were a robot.”

“Brainwashed,” Parker corrected him.

“Like Arnie?”

“Wait? He was a robot. He wasn’t brainwashed.”

“Oh, yeah. But he could snap necks just like Sophie.”

Sophie’s head was going from one person to another, trying to catch up with what was going on.

“I’m not snapping anyone’s neck. I might break a nail.”

“Just Hardison’s version of the story.”

Sophie sat down next to Nate, virtually no space between her and his shoulder.

“You get shot again?” Sophie asked about Nate.

“No,” Nate replied, a bit ticked at the implication.

“Yes,” the other three answered at the same time.


	2. Sherlock

Chapter Two--Sherlock

“What on earth?”

Tap, tap, tap at the keyboard. Opening up documents that weren’t meant to be seen.  Looking up keywords, then finding exactly what John had hidden.

“Robots?”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed more and more as he read what John had posted online.

“I most certainly am not a robot. And I most certainly could not do that.”

He grimaced at the suggestion that he, Sherlock Holmes, was an utter prat, even as a robot.

A door slam, then footsteps indicating to Sherlock that it wasn’t John who had entered downstairs. The footsteps were too light, no shuffling, which definitely always indicated that John was on his way up the stairs.  Blasted, he was late, as usual.

“Oh. Sherlock.  I was supposed to meet John here.”

Molly Hooper. It was still awkward between the two of them, but at least she now could speak with him without wanting to either slap him silly or kick him in the arse.

“And he’s not arrived yet.”

He didn’t look up from the screen, wanting to finish this so-called robot story before John caught him using his computer.

“Case?”

“Oh, no. John Watson fancies himself a writer of sorts.”

Molly stood over Sherlock, hands twisting back and forth in her scarf. He almost reached out to stop her movements, to tell her that she didn’t need to be nervous in his presence, but he put his hand down on the mouse, scrolling through the story.

“Well, he is. His blog is quite popular, especially since the incident.”

Molly had taken to calling the events at Sherrinford as “the incident”.

“No, this is a bit of fiction. Seems that I’m a robot bent on world annihilation.  Ooh, and he’s the protagonist. Wait, I’m the bad guy?”

Molly moved around so that she could look over his shoulder. He could smell a bit of her perfume mixed with the scents from the morgue. Closing his eyes just for a moment, he fantasized what it would be like to reach up and just …

“No, I think you’re brainwashed. No robot.”

“Look, it says right there,” Sherlock replied as he pointed to the part where he thought John said he was a robot.

“Super human strength. Oh, you broke someone’s neck.  I once had a body come in the morgue with what looked to be a broken neck. That was when you were on your quest to rid the world of Moriarty’s group.  Fascinating.  It ended up that his wife pushed him down a flight of stairs was all.  Probably had it coming from what I heard from Greg.”

“Who?  Is he in the story?”

“Lestrade.  I swear you do that just to piss him off.”

“It works.”

Molly snorted out a short laugh, leaning in to read more of the story.

“That must be me.”

Sherlock zeroed in on the passage that mentioned Molly.  John hadn’t used her name, but the description fit her to a T.  Short in stature, interesting choice in outfit, adorable nose, deep brown eyes one could get lost in.

“Why’d he give me glasses?”

Sherlock squirmed a bit, thinking about how sexy Molly would look with glasses perched on her nose. He could move his hand to push them up, brushing up against the softness of her face.

“Yes, well, it must not be you then. Artistic license.”

“Oh, will you look at that. Score one for Molly Hooper. Seems I figure out a way to destroy the robot.”

“What?”

Sherlock kept reading, still aware of how close Molly was to him, hot breath on his neck.

“He did not. John Watson.”

Instead of closing the document, Sherlock started typing away, fixing what was wrong with the story.

“Sherlock, don’t you think it’s a bit not good to take over someone’s story?”

“Oh, John won’t mind.”

Sherlock typed for a few more minutes, smiling Molly’s way when he was finished.

“So you were faking it?  And you, what, wait? Sherlock,” Molly gasped out.  “I don’t think John meant to write porn.”

“I think it adds a bit of flavor. It was kind of boring if you ask me.”

A slam of the door indicated that the author was back from his errand.

“Don’t tell him,” Sherlock told Molly as he closed John’s computer quickly.

“Sherlock, is there something you wish to discuss with me?”

He put his finger up to his lips so that she could see he really did not want John to find out what he’d done. He tried to look casual when John walked in the door, but by the looks that Molly was giving him, which confused him to no end, he pulled out the paper and opened it to cover his expressions.

Molly still hadn’t moved from her position near the computer, head turned to look at him as he peeked around the newsprint.

“Oh, Molly. Sorry I’m late,” John announced as he walked in the door.

Molly was still speechless.

“Are you alright, Molly?” John gently asked as he opened up his computer.

“John, there’s something that I need to do.  Please don’t be shocked. Damn it all to hell and back.”

Sherlock hadn’t realized how irritated Molly had seemed to become over the course of the few seconds where he had closed the computer and sat down with the paper. Had he misjudged something he’d done? Was it the fact that he’d intruded on John’s writing?

It all happened in an instant. One moment he was holding the paper to the side to spy on John and Molly. The next moment the paper was flying every which way and he found himself flush against Molly, her lips hungrily devouring him, stealing his breath away.

“Leaving,” John declared, grabbing the computer and making his exit before Sherlock could do anything about Molly.

Later, as John opened up his computer, he clicked on his file of the story he’d been writing for the last week or so. It passed the time. Only when he started to reread what he’d written, he realized that someone, a certain someone, had made significant changes to the main character.

“Sherlock Holmes, what have you done?” John yelled out to no one in particular.  “Sherlock writing porn.”

Now he understood Molly’s reaction. Who knew that glasses were Sherlock’s kink?


	3. Spike

Chapter Three--Spike

Tap, tap, tap, backspace, backspace. More taps, more backspacing, returns.  The noise was driving him insane, but he needed to finish the story as fast as he could. His reading public was waiting for the next installment.

“I have one of those typing programs.”

“I’m good.”

“Pecking at the keyboard will take you hours.”

“Totally fine.”

Why had Wesley shown Spike how to use the computer? Oh yeah, so Spike could “contribute” in doing research.

“Done.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Shut your bloody blow hole. I said I was done. I was actually getting things done, unlike you and your research.”

Spike used air quotes when he said the word research.  Wesley wasn’t getting anywhere with his so-called research as Spike pointed out. Spike didn’t have to rub it in, but it was funny nonetheless.

“Now that you’re done with my computer, you can leave.”

“Whatever Princess Margaret.”

Instead of leaving, Spike sat down in a chair and put his boots up on Wesley’s desk, obviously not ready to leave just yet. Wesley fiddled with the blinds a bit.  Maybe he would just open the blinds and see how fast Spike would scramble up and out of that chair? He wouldn’t put it past the watcher.

“There something you needed, Spike or can I get back to my work?”

“Work? So that’s what you’re doing.”

Spike had been bothering him much more lately than he had in the past. 

“What the fuck?” Spike heard off in the distance. Just what he’d been waiting for.

“I’m not a robot,” another familiar voice shouted from the next room.

Spike smirked, knowing that he’d done his job for the day. Now to settle in to watch the fireworks.

“Who the fuck writes this shit?” the voice said, getting closer to Wesley’s office.

“At least you’re not a robot,” the other voice answered.

“Wes, hon, we need to talk.”

Faith, the vampire slayer, stood in Wesley’s office doorway just about ready to pull the door off of its hinges.  From the look that Wes was giving her, he had no idea what he’d done to piss off his girlfriend this time.

“Is there something wrong, Faith?” Wes asked gently.

“Well, you see,” Faith grinned back at him. It wasn’t one of those grins of amusement that Faith often had on her face.  It was one of those grins that told Spike she was out for blood.

“I’m not a robot,” Angel announced from behind Faith.

“I don’t think you are, Angel,” Wes answered him back.  “New case?”

“No.  It’s just, well, just wanted you to know. Not a robot.”

“Ok,” Wesley slowly responded.

“And I am not some sex fiend. Just fix this.”

Wesley looked from Faith, back to Spike, shaking his head.  He chose his words very carefully.

“I’ve never assumed that you were.”

“Oh, well, there was that one time, mate,” Spike started.

“Spike, not helping,” Wes pointed to him.

“So, what, you’re telling everyone about our sex lives? Dude, discretion.”

“Walls aren’t that thick,” Angel added, then realizing that probably didn’t make things better at all.

Wesley looked mortified, Faith looked like she was ready to throw down and Angel just looked perplexed at it all.

“Still not a robot.”

“Just, you’re not supposed to write those things down.”

Spike grinned up at Faith, knowing that if Wes didn’t change his tune in oh, the next minute, there might be punches thrown.

“I assure you, Faith, that my journals say nothing about our extracurricular activities.”

“Wait, that’s what you call it?”

“No, I mean, of course not,” Wesley stated as he rose from his chair.

“Word choice.”

“Shut up, Spike,” both Faith and Wes shouted at him.

“In your story, you made me a robot. And Faith does some interesting…”

“Angel, finish that sentence and I will make you wish you were a robot.”

“Story?” Wesley asked.

“Yeah. Didn’t you think we’d figure it out?”

That was Spike’s cue to leave the scene before they all put two and two together.

“Gotta go see a man. Big case coming up,” Spike announced as he grabbed his coat from the chair.

“Sun’s up,” Wes reminded him.

“Bugger. I’ll take the sewers.”

“There’s this whole story posted online about you and me and Angel.  Buffy’s in there too. What’s funny is Spike saves the day. I thought it was a bit overdone and melodramatic for my tastes.”

“I’ll have you know…” Spike started, then realizing his mistake.

The three of them glared at him.

“Remember the other night?” Faith asked Wes.  “That thing you did?”

“Oh. Yes,” Wes responded, looking proud of himself.

“Seems someone wrote about it.”

“What?” Wes questioned his girlfriend.

“And I’m still a robot.”

“Angel, will you get off the robot thing?”

“Like no one cares.”

“Spike, were you watching?” Wesley carefully asked the vampire.

“Wasn’t me, mate.  I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Spike knew that Wes had much better aim. He just did it to make Spike pay for posting their supposed sexcapades online. The stake sticking out of his shoulder hurt like a son of a bitch.

“Miss me?” Spike groaned out.


	4. Dean

Chapter Four--Dean

His brother had a stick up his ass. Always had. Always would.  Sure, he occasionally got some, but the man was way too uptight. Until Dean noticed a file open one day and read it.  Who knew? He certainly didn’t.

“I don’t understand how that girl is doing that to that man.”

And he had Castiel to deal with also?  Sam was on a food and beer run, Dean was stuck in a hotel room with a naughty angel and he just found out that his brother possibly wrote porn and was posting it online.

“Cas, awkward.”

“Yes, it is very awkward and a bit disturbing too.”

“Ah, fuck.”

“In your vernacular, that is exactly what the participants…”

Dean grabbed the remote and shut the television off. At least he didn’t have to listen to what was playing on the TV. Cas had learned how to turn off the volume after the last incident.

“Dude. Way too much information.”

“That is what you call TMI, I think,” Castiel responded with air quotes when he said TMI.

“You getting hip is so wrong on so many levels.”

“I am exploring my human side.”

“You’re an angel, or were. Just find a way to get your powers back.”

“I believe once I’ve had enough time to recharge.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. We need you at full power. Not some half assed angel that Crowley can slap down at a moment’s notice.”

“There was slapping going on in the video I was watching.”

The door had opened when Castiel was talking about the slapping, making Sam almost walk back out again.

“Am I interrupting something?” Sam asked Dean, amused to what Cas had been intimating.

“Oh god, no.  Did you get pie?”

“Three kinds. And beer.”

“I think I should drink your beer,” Cas announced as he pulled the six pack out of Sam’s hand.

“Angel drunk? Fuck my life,” Dean stated as he pulled out the cheeseburger that Sam had gotten for him.

“Oh, red meat.”

Luckily Sam had anticipated Castiel’s love of red meat on occasion and gotten the fallen angel a hamburger and fries in addition to the alcohol. Cas moaned as he bit into the juicy burger.

“Much better than watching porn.”

Sam scowled at Dean for his angel sitting technique but what was Dean supposed to do?  Cas did what he wanted.

“Looks like I have to lock out certain channels before I leave the room.”

“Why would you want to do that? I would think you would want to do more research for your writing.”

Dean looked at Castiel, then looked at Sam for a reaction.  He hadn’t told Cas a thing about what he’d found on Sam’s computer.

“Research?” Sam drew out.

“Oh yes, your so-called porn stories on the internet. Is that what you call them? By the way, I am not a robot. Just wanted you to know.”

Castiel read Sam’s stories? When had he done that? Dean had stumbled on them just now.

“Robot?  Castiel, I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

Dean knew when Sam was lying.  He had a tell from early childhood that Dean knew exactly when he was lying. He’d never told his brother, wanting to keep it a secret from the rest of the world.

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, like he was sympathetic to his cause.

“It’s kind of like when Dean looks at those magazines then disappears into the bathroom for an hour with them.”

Dean choked on his burger, accidentally spitting out a few chunks. While he was trying to recover, he slashed his hand over his throat, cluing Cas in to shut the hell up.

“Oh, you want me to be quiet and not tell Sam about what goes on in there.”

Sam dropped his fork into his salad and sighed.

“Cas, were you spying on us?” Sam asked.

“No spying. I do have an imagination you know.”

“Oh, eww, Cas.  Just, no,” Dean finally said, finding his voice after almost choking.

“Those busty Asian beauties.”

“Cas, we don’t talk about this stuff,” Dean reminded Castiel.

“Maybe if humans talked about this stuff more often, then both of you wouldn’t have those sticks up your ass when it comes to women.”

“And I am not a robot.”

The demon knife had been sitting on the table after Dean had cleaned it. It was too far away to get to in time to gank Meg if he needed it.

“We’re eating.”

“I can see that. Just checking on Clarence there.”

“It’s like you actually care,” Dean sarcastically announced to Meg.

How had she found them again?  He guessed they’d have to revise their warding symbols yet again if she was able to get through and find Castiel.

“Castiel’s safety is my priority, boys.

“Afraid that Crowley might find you?” Sam asked as he stabbed at his salad again.

“Not at the moment. Nice story, by the way Sam.”

“Still not a robot.”

“Robots? What are you talking about?”

Sam really did look perplexed about what they all were talking about.

“Well, there was this story. It was, um, pretty racy.”

“You mean it had lots of sex in it?” Meg clearing up what Dean had not wanted to voice out loud.

“It’s not my story.  A friend sent it to me.”

Dean could see Sam’s ears turning a bit pink.

“Come on, Sam. It was on your computer.”

“Dammit, Dean.”

“Yes, dammit, Dean,” Cas parroting Sam.

“Oh boys. Didn’t know you had that much talent.”

“It’s not mine. Sheriff Jody sent it to me, OK?”

“That means I totally misinterpreted what was going on in the story, Sam. I am truly sorry,” Castiel apologized.  “But why does the robot have sex?”

Meg laughed at his statement.

“Are you and Jody? Not judging at all, Sam.”

Sam sure did pick them.

“Way too much information,” Sam mumbled.

“Yes, TMI.”

Cas looked pleased with himself.

 


End file.
